The Ways of the Universe
by CyberQueens
Summary: No two epic love stories are the same. For Oliver and Felicity, it's quite the long road. What with all the crime-fighting, and super-secret identities, and emotionally-stunted men, and old flames, and meddlesome friends and family. Some goats, too. Picks up right after the end of 'City of Heroes' (2x01) and goes AU.
1. The Ancient Art of Herding

_A/N: So, first foray into the goodness of Olicity. Let me just preface this by saying that I have never fallen for a ship this hard, this fast - and I have been a fangirl for long years. That said, this is my first story with the these two, and I'm still getting a hang of the characters, so please do tell if I do something wildly OOC and nonsensical. Also, I have no beta, so all potential atrocities of the grammatical and/or spelling variety are of my own doing._

* * *

**_I. The Ancient Art of Herding_**

_Green Arrow_.

Felicity quite liked that one. It was very…literal. Fitting, too. Plus, there many variations she could, _very_ privately, implement on the mantle.

Brooding Arrow. Sexy Arrow. Murderous Arrow. Extremely Sweaty Arrow. So-Technologically-Impaired-It-Hurts Arrow. Disturbingly-Blue-Eyed Arrow. Chirpy Arrow – though, when or if _that_ happened, it would have to be an immediate red flag. Grumpy Arrow. Moody Arrow.

Or, as the case was now, Frowny-Face Arrow.

It was just the two of them left in their now upgraded to super-status lair, after Digg had left for the night, and Felicity had spent the better part of the last half-hour watching Oliver nurse a frown of varying intensity and depth, all the while alternating between twirling an arrow in his hands and glaring at it like it had Malcolm Merlyn's face plastered to it.

After some grueling internal debate, she sighed and rose to her feet. "So, I gotta ask," she began as she approached him, where he was half-propped against one of the tables, "why the sour face? I mean, we just whipped you up with an awesome super-secret codename, Team Arrow is officially back in business, and our new Code of Honor is all sorts of epic. So…what's got your leathers in a bunch?"

She didn't miss the small quirk of his lips as she planted herself in front of him, though he did wipe it away by the time his eyes rose to meet hers. "Everything's fine, Felicity," he said, in a tone used to describe situations that were decidedly _not_ fine.

She pursed her lips. "Look, I know your manpain is something you hold very dear – "

"My what?"

" – but you have so much of it, it couldn't possibly hurt to take just a teeny, tiny bit off the top. I guarantee it won't even leave a dent."

He didn't seem to quite grasp the definition of 'manpain' in its entirety, if the now _confused_ frown he sported was any indication, but he did appear to have understood what she was asking. With a deep sigh, he set the arrow aside and crossed his arms over his chest. "I went to visit Tommy's grave earlier," he told her. "Laurel was there."

Felicity cringed on his behalf. "Not the most pleasant experience, I take it."

"No, it – it was, actually." He paused there, and it was Felicity's turn to grow confused as a small – and damn near lovesick, if you asked her – smile played on his lips. A moment later, he sobered. "We…we both made mistakes, and she doesn't hold mine over my head. But, umm…" He licked his lips. "We can't be together again, ever, and she made that very clear. Not that I…don't think the same. Also, uh…"

He didn't say anything further as he rubbed the back of his neck, but he didn't really need to; Felicity had a pretty good idea of what was going through his mind. "Also, she hates the vigilante," she voiced the thought for him, and knew she'd hit the bullseye when his shoulders visibly slumped.

It wasn't a surprise; Laurel Lance had made no secret of what her main objective was since she'd begun working for the District Attorney.

"Yeah," Oliver mumbled quietly, his eyes going over Felicity's shoulder and growing unfocused.

She bit her lip; questioning Oliver on his feelings was pretty much a guaranteed way to get yourself turned into a pincushion, and Felicity was about to poke the proverbial mother of all bears with her next inquiry. Never let it be said the IT girl had no balls. "So, are you brooding because Laurel – _the_ Laurel – hates what is arguably the greater part of what makes you, you " – she fidgeted for a moment, lowering her voice – "or because you don't _really_ think you can't be together again?"

He stilled. Completely. From head to toe. A lesser being would have cowered, Felicity thought. Still, she held her ground, waiting for her answer.

Eventually, Oliver deflated, and sighed. "I don't know," he admitted.

A wise woman would have left it at that; Felicity decided to tempt fate just a while longer. "If I tell you what I think, do I still get to walk out of here with all my limbs intact?"

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow, which Felicity interpreted as permission to barrel on, whether he had intended it as such or not. "I think that, somewhere deep down, you still believe – or hope – you and Laurel will somehow, someway, end up behind a white picket fence and drive around in a tacky minivan." When he began to glower, she rushed to add, "Not consciously, obviously, you would never do that, because of Tommy – "

Oh God, she was just making it worse.

" – not that Tommy – you know what, let's not go there, what I mean is, you and Laurel have too much history for it all to just go away, even after…well, _happenings_, and it's all very complicated – honestly, I don't think complicated even begins to cover it – "

This was it. The end of the road. She was going to get impaled in the next ten seconds.

" – so I think, what you really need to do is make it _less_ complicated – you know, figure out exactly what Laurel is to you, and go from there."

The murderous glint in his eye lingered for a moment, as she struggled to steady her breathing after her longwinded speech, but was soon replaced by plain confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and she was so immensely happy that he didn't seem like he was planning her imminent demise.

She took a deep breath. "What is she to you?" she asked simply. That only seemed to confuse him further.

Sighing, she figured she'd present with options to sample from. "Okay, she's _Laurel_, right? Laurel, Laurel, Laurel – and wow, saying it three times fast is – "

He cleared his throat.

"Right," she veered back onto the right course. "But is she…Tommy's girl? Your ex-girlfriend? Your ex-girlfriend-turned-BFF? The one to rule them all? Your heart's one desire? Your goat herder?"

Oliver blinked. "My goa –yes, _definitely_ my goat herder," he declared flatly.

"Okay, then you – "

"Felicity," he interrupted, a breath of laughter coating his words, "I don't know what a goat herder _is_ – I mean, I do know, but I don't think we're going by the same definition here."

She threw her hands up. "You know, your goat herder. Your unicorn. Your coconut. Because your love is just so epic and all-encompassing that the English language can't even begin to grasp it, and the universe has to attribute you a random word since none in existence can live up to the power of your love."

He was just staring at her blankly now. Well, almost blankly; there was a shadow of something else in his eyes but he was far too difficult to read for her to recognize it. "So?" she prompted. "Is she your goat herder?"

Oliver gave her no answer.

* * *

It was some time later that Oliver was left alone, Felicity having gone home herself.

He spent quite the amount of time going over their earlier conversation. Felicity's, however silly, question had gone unanswered, as Oliver had decided it was territory he didn't want to wander in and promptly changed the subject; to her credit, Felicity only huffed under her breath.

Now alone in the relative darkness, Oliver let himself think on it. Who was Laurel to him? As Felicity had so deftly put it, she was Laurel – _the_ Laurel. She was everything…except when she wasn't.

There were times when he was at peace without her. And then there were times when it almost physically _hurt_ to be without her. It was – again, as Felicity had put it – complicated. Diggle had once told him that it was always going to be Laurel, and everyone else be damned; as loath as Oliver was to admit it, it was probably the truth. But then, his traitorous mind would conjure up scenarios where he would _have_ to choose again, between Laurel and everyone else who mattered to him, and his thoughts would come to a screeching halt; he couldn't choose. Would he sacrifice Digg for Laurel? Or his family? Felicity? He got slightly sick just thinking about having to make any of those choices.

But Laurel was Laurel. She was his goat herder. She had to be. Really, if anyone herded all of his goats, it had to be Laurel.

And now he was thinking in weird Felicity metaphors.

Maybe he was losing it.

* * *

_A/N 2: Okay, so I know there's a lot of goat-talk here - and please, rest assured that all and any goats are used in the most innocent of ways. Not that there will actually BE goats walking around. As to why there's so many goats...well, you try spending some quality time in a godforsaken French village and walking away mentally unscathed. I'm a city girl. Chickens and goats give me nightmares. _  
_That nonsense aside, I hope you liked this prologue._


	2. The Heroic Business

_A/N: For the purposes of this story, I am (I think) tweaking canon a bit, so in this particular puppy, Laurel has been working as ADA for some time before Oliver returns to SC - as in, it's not exactly the newest of jobs for her. _  
_With that out of the way, please carry on._

* * *

_**II. The Heroic Business**_

Isabel Rochev was a meanie. An honest-to-God, nightmare-inducing meanie.

With the hostile takeover averted, Queen Consolidated still remained a family business. Unfortunately, there was a price to it, and Isabel Rochev was here to stay.

At least she had stopped making blatant jabs at Oliver's lack of corporate prowess. Well, that could also be a downside. Felicity caught the other woman's calculated, shrew looks when she sat by Oliver's side at this or that meeting; his mindless-playboy mask was debunked and now, Miss Rochev was beginning to see beneath the surface. It could become a problem.

Which Felicity suggested could be at least somewhat resolved by increasing the frequency with which Digg put on the green hood when Oliver was very publicly somewhere else; both her partners in crime-fighting had agreed, though with some grumbles on Diggle's part.

And then there was another problem; Isabel Rochev was on _the list_.

Oliver would not touch that list with a ten-foot pole now, but the fact remained that he, as well as the two other members of the – as Felicity liked to call them – Golden Trio, knew that damned list by heart. And Isabel Rochev was on it.

So, yes, Felicity concluded. Isabel Rochev was a meanie.

And so was Oliver, after hours in the board room. Felicity estimated that four hours was his limit; after that, Grumpy Arrow came out to play and it was every poor, unfortunate soul for themselves.

Of course, two _very_ unfortunate souls didn't have the luxury of ducking for cover. So, she and Diggle were in Oliver's office, as the latter had decided this was a good time to further discuss their nighttime activities. While being grumpy.

Felicity had tried to lift his mood. She brought him bagels. She even brought him a smoothie that looked like a rainbow. He didn't seem particularly enthused with either.

"If we're doing this," Oliver proceeded with what was a rather long speech about the newly-reformed Team Arrow, "we have to be meticulous about it. More careful. Before, we mostly just stumbled our way through the dark and learned by going; we have to be better than that." He made a pause there. "We need ground rules."

From his spot by the door, Diggle simply deadpanned, "Don't piss me off, those are my ground rules."

Felicity stifled a smile, while Oliver's hand flailed around in irritation. "This is serious, John."

"I _was_ being serious."

Felicity bit her lip. "And I demand better coffee," she informed, effectively making Oliver turn his frustration on her. "Felicity…" He huffed in annoyance. "Will either of you please take this seriously? It's important."

Felicity chanced a side-glance at Diggle. When they had dragged Oliver back home, he was as uncooperative as could be when it came to the hero business; he had gone through the acceptance phase, which was great, but now, he seemed more into it than either of them.

Now, it could be because the thought of making Tommy proud, of being better in his memory, was something that motivated Oliver on a very deep level. Somehow, though, Felicity wasn't sure that was all there was to it. Somehow, and in light of their recent late-night conversation, she thought that maybe it had to do with Laurel, too. And, by the look on his face, Diggle seemed like he was thinking along the same lines.

After a moment of tense silence, during which Oliver took turns in glaring at both of them separately, Felicity cleared her throat. "Okay," she said. "We'll bite."

Oliver released a deep breath then settled back in his chair and spread his arms out, as if to tell them to hit him with their best suggestions.

Felicity frowned. "Wait, you want us to come up with something right _now_?"

"No time like the present," he declared, and Felicity thought this was about as close to Chirpy Arrow as he was ever going to get.

Diggle sighed. "How about we make it homework?" he suggested. "Otherwise, I _will_ make it a rule for you to wear a pink tutu over your get-up every time you go out, Oliver, I swear to God."

After some lip-curling, Oliver relented in the face of that threat. "Fine," he agreed. "Just…give it some thought, okay? This matters."

Both Diggle and Felicity nodded dutifully.

With that promise made, Diggle excused himself to hit the men's room. "Try not to attract any masked gunmen while I'm away," were his parting words, to which Oliver glared.

Now alone with him, Felicity took a moment to watch him. He was looking out the window, a certain contemplative look in his eyes.

"I have a ground rule," she broke the silence, taking him by surprise. When his eyes connected with hers, she went on softly, "We're doing this for the city. And its people – all of them. Those who need help, and those the city has already failed. This isn't about making ourselves feel better, or proving anything to anyone. It's about our city."

He frowned for a moment, as if he couldn't understand why she was bringing it up, or phrasing it the way she was. Then, his features cleared in understanding before they settled into a stony mask, and she knew she'd been right earlier; this was about Laurel, too. It was like watching a terrible shipwreck unfold; part of him was getting invested because he thought, consciously or not, that it would make Laurel see his alter-ego in a different light. Felicity didn't want him to hope against hope; she didn't want to get into this for the wrong reasons, either.

"Those _are_ the only reasons I'm doing this for, Felicity," he said flatly.

She pursed her lips. "And that brings me to ground rule number two" – she gave him a pointed look – "which is _honesty_."

He looked like he was chewing on his own tongue now.

"No lies," she proceeded. "You can, you know, keep a dirty secret or two if you want, but no lies to your fellow conspirators."

After a moment, he nodded. "No lies," he agreed.

She raised an eyebrow, indicating she expected him to own up to his earlier lie. He didn't cooperate.

* * *

They decided to take it easy for their first mission back on the job – well, easy was relative in their line of work.

On their first night back, they were taking down a drug ring leader – one of many to have risen to power after the earthquake – who was only known in the streets under a pseudonym; apparently, after the Hood and the Count, baddies everywhere had taken to hiding behind witty titles. This particular member of the criminal scene went by, as ridiculous as it was, Scarface. Whether he took inspiration from the character or literally had a face full of scars, no one really knew.

What was known however, to Felicity at least, were his whereabouts. The man was a ghost, with no record or picture in any public database, but all it took for a computer genius was some time – or rather, some weeks – spent on trailing the sellers, through both traffic cameras and trackers Diggle had slipped on some of them, and waiting to see where they all converged. All minions had to report to the master eventually.

So, Felicity had a location: the barely-standing ruins of the old CNRI offices.

When she related that piece of information to Oliver, it alone sufficed to get him riled up. He did make a point to praise her for her great work, though. And then did the same for Diggle when the latter grumbled indignantly.

It wasn't a mission that they would classify as needing all hands on the proverbial deck, and besides, they needed a bit of practice to find their rhythm again.

So, Oliver went out alone, while Diggle and Felicity kept a comm link on, nursed tall cups of coffee, and waited.

As they did, Felicity slipped a few articles into the internet ether, all referencing the man in the hood as Green Arrow, rather than just 'the Hood'; hopefully, with a couple of initial steps taken, the name would take off on its own.

"Smart," Diggle commented as he watched her put the finishing touches on the articles. "Does he know you're doing it?"

"I just thought of it," she said. "But hey, if it works, maybe he'll pat me on the head and call me a good girl."

She paused, narrowed her eyes, then turned to Diggle. "Did that sound dirty?"

He choked on a snort. "Only to your dirty mind, Felicity."

"My mind's not dirty," she defended. "It's just…wired wrong."

Diggle only shook his head.

Having finished her task, she drummed her fingers against the keyboard as they waited for Oliver to reach the target. It was a relatively short wait.

Their comms crackled to life, making them both on alert; there were sounds of a crash, as Oliver either broke down a makeshift door or ran through a brick wall, and the telltale hiss of an arrow being nocked back.

"_Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees_."

Felicity started at the sound of Oliver's distorted voice. "Wait, where's the catchphrase?" she blurted out, and the low grumble in her ear told her Oliver didn't seem to appreciate that particular part of her running commentary.

There was some rusting to be heard before another voice broke through, presumably that of the notorious Scarface. "_Hey, Hood guy!_"

Well, for a hardened criminal with an arrow pointed at his face, he sounded awfully…chipper.

"_I prefer Green Arrow these days_," came Oliver's reply, and Scarface's subsequent snort.

"_That one's even worse! Seriously, where do you come up with this stuff?_"

Felicity turned to Digg, who looked as bewildered as she felt. "Is that guy high or something?"

"Well," Diggle hedged, "he is a drug cartel leader, so…could be."

"Yeah, but even if he were _wasted_, he wouldn't be antagonizing – oh!" Her fingers began moving as soon as it clicked, and she switched the satellite feed transmitting to her monitors to a thermodynamic filter. Sure enough, Oliver and Scarface were in the middle of the crumbled building, while Felicity counted five heat signatures moving just outside Oliver's field of vision, and closing in. If he hadn't noticed them before, they had to have been in hiding – and being damn good at it, too. Too good, in fact, for Felicity not to suspect that they had been expecting him.

But to focus on immediate problems…

"He's distracting you, Oliver," she said quickly. "His trigger-happy buddies are closing in on you."

"_I gathered as much_," was his dry reply, just as Diggle started describing the men's positions with precision and a lot of military words Felicity didn't really understand.

"_Who are you talking to?_"

"_Well, you've got your sidekicks_," Oliver told the man at his feet, "_and I've got mine_."

The hiss of a flying arrow filled her ears next, then another, then four more; all in quick succession, and none wasted. Felicity watched the colorful blurbs move over her screen, the one representing Oliver having barely moved, yet all his targets were down. She could just picture him, nocking one arrow after the other, using his instincts to back up Diggle's words and hit every last man; probably without breaking a sweat.

Her traitorous tongue was about to get the better of her brain when something else caught her attention; the SCPD's scanner she had running on a side monitor was going haywire. Frowning, she turned the volume up.

"_All units to the East Glades, old CNRI headquarters, the vigilante is on site, all units to –_ "

She turned her frantic eyes to Diggle as the crackle of the police dispatcher's voice hummed around them. "It's a set up," she let out before raising her voice. "Oliver, get out of there, get out of there right now!"

She held her breath as she listened to his labored pants while he made a quick escape, balling her hands into fists when she could hear sirens echo in the background. There was some shouting, and even what sounded like gunfire to her, but more importantly, the roar of a revving engine. Soon, it was the only sound to be heard, apart from Oliver's breathing. "I'm in the clear," he informed gruffly. "Taking the long route back to the club."

And with that, he was offline. Felicity heaved a sigh of relief as she discarded her comm, but said relief was only temporary; they had been set up. The vigilante had been set up. There was no other explanation for it; both the lurking men and the inordinately quick police response. All knew exactly where Oliver was going to be.

She had a feeling now, as to how it all connected, and she really, _really_ hoped her gut was wrong.

Her hands were at the keyboard once more, running specific algorithms in search of patterns on both SCPD files and all and documentation the District Attorney's office had to offer to the cyber-world, cross-referencing with a complied list of different channels she knew were used by law enforcement and informants to communicate under the radar.

By the time Oliver strode through the door, she knew exactly how they had been played, and promptly turned to Diggle. "You tell him," she muttered.

Diggle sighed and rose to his feet, coming face to face with a very put-off Oliver. "What happened?" he demanded immediately. "You said it was a set-up. By whom?"

Felicity felt the sudden urge to cry. "I'm sorry, Oliver," she began, her voice quiet and thick, "I should have known – I mean, _we_ should have known – and I should have checked before sending you there, it was stupid, I mean – no, really, what self-respecting crook calls himself Scarface? – and I should have figured it out, I'm a genius – well, I'm supposed to be, but I'm obviously not, and – "

"Felicity!" he interrupted her somewhat tearful babble, now looking angry, confused and worried all at the same time. "Just…explain it to me, please."

She didn't have the heart for it. She really didn't.

So, Diggle took over. "After we realized it was a trap, Felicity did some digging – "

"Which I should have already done beforehand," she mumbled under her breath.

" – and it turns out, this was a pretty big deal," Diggle went on as if she hadn't spoken. His voice grew more stilted, more cautious, as he proceeded, and Felicity could see it confused Oliver. "For the Police Department," Diggle said, "and…the District Attorney's office."

Oliver shifted, his features going slack; yeah, he was starting to get it now.

"Joint task force," Diggle informed, "to catch the vigilante. All under the radar, all on a need-to-know basis. The reason Scarface was a ghost is because he really didn't exist until they made him up…they gave him credit for drug buys that didn't happen, and in the spike of drug traffic since the earthquake, it was easy to plant the false info."

Felicity picked at her nails as Diggle explained it all methodically; she really wouldn't have been able to do that.

"They made sure to put him on their 'most wanted' list, made it seem like they had trouble catching him – like he was doing a hell of a lot of damage, because – "

" – because that's exactly the kind of target I would go after," Oliver finished for Diggle, his voice hollow.

"Yeah," the other man confirmed. "After you took down the Count, I think they figured you didn't particularly tolerate drug lords. They knew we were tracking them. Felicity and I have been doing it while you were away, so they thought you were still around Starling City. They knew you – well, they thought it was you – would trace them back to base eventually. And – " He paused there, obviously not really wanting to continue; still, it needed to be said, even though Felicity was pretty sure Oliver had already figured it out.

"And, they chose CNRI because…" Diggle resumed, taking a deep breath. "Because it was…poetic justice, I suppose. Laurel, she, uh…she was pretty high up in the chain of command. CNRI was…it was her pitch."

Felicity blinked back her tears as she watched Oliver; for a brief second, he looked more lost than she had ever seen him.

"Tommy died there," he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

"Like I said," Diggle reiterated flatly, "poetic justice."

Oliver was very quiet, and very still, for a long time.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm trying another way, then," he eventually spoke. "Otherwise, I would have killed six cops."

He turned on his heel with those words, disappearing towards the lair's back, where most of his training equipment was now.

Felicity knew there were tears brimming in her eyes. She felt so defeated. This was supposed to be their big comeback and it had failed gloriously. Not to mention that it had hit Oliver right in his Laurel issues.

"Ground rule number fifty-six," she muttered, "check all intel twenty times. Then check again."

"It's not your fault, Felicity," Diggle comforted kindly. "Everything seemed legit."

She let out a mirthless chuckle. "They played us real good, didn't they?"

He only backed her sentiment up with a nod.

They seemed to have come to a silent agreement to not leave Oliver alone; both lingered behind in silence, to the sounds of him beating up inanimate objects.

After a particularly inhuman roar, Felicity decided that it may be wise to check up on him; just to be sure he wasn't two seconds away from demolishing the place. Diggle gave her a nod of approval as she hesitantly inched her way closer to where Oliver was, her heels clicking against the ground, so he knew when she stepped behind him.

"I'm fine, Felicity," he grumbled before she had even spoken.

"I'm starting to think you're really just using that word ironically," she couldn't help but observe, much to his apparent irritation. His already tense shoulders went downright rigid, before they slumped. He turned to her, and Felicity thought he looked a lot like a kicked puppy.

"I'll _be_ fine," he amended his previous statement and she appreciated the effort.

Biting her lip and wringing her hands, she said, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I led you right into a trap and – "

"That wasn't your fault," he interjected, sounding almost confused that she would place the blame on herself.

She cracked a small smile. "I appreciate the sentiment, but it kind of was, I mean – " Letting out a loud breath, she tried to get her bearings. "The thing, the three of us, we're – where the law is concerned, we're criminals, right? So, when it comes down to it, all we have is each other for protection and – well, that kind of stuff. And I'm our first line of defense, I – I'm the one who digs for intel and all the cyber-stuff you and Digg don't understand, and…and I messed up."

She blinked and he was two steps closer to her. "Digg didn't see it either," he offered, his voice softer now. "_I_ didn't see it."

"Yeah, but – " She was fighting tears again. "I gave all the info to Digg, and he didn't see it because he trusts _me_, and you didn't see it because you trust _us_." Her eyes went to the ground as she mumbled, "So, really, I almost got you caught, or worse, on your first night back."

Another blink and he was right in her personal space. She slowly brought her eyes to his. "Not your fault," he repeated firmly, sporting a very no-nonsense look. "If we're pointing fingers, then we all messed up. But, I got out before they could catch me, so let's just…take this as a precautionary tale."

She nodded, then offered him a wan smile. "Guess we're still not totally past the learn-by-going phase."

He returned her smile as he agreed, "Yeah."

_Don't talk about Laurel_, she chanted to herself as the silence stretched. _Don't even think about Laurel. No Laurel. Felicity Smoak, do not – _

"I'm sorry about Laurel."

Well, so much for that.

"I mean, I'm sorry she was involved in this," she just rambled on when Oliver's features went from comforting to absolutely stony, "and that, you know, she chose CNRI. Not that she would ever do that if she knew you were – well, _you_, and it's all just this really cruel turn of fate, but it still sucks so…yeah, I'm sorry about…all of…that."

He didn't even bat an eyelid.

She gulped. "Right. Well, I'm just gonna go now, and leave you to…uh, your stuff. Yeah."

Spinning on her heel awkwardly, she began trekking back to the safety of her monitors; Oliver called to her just before she went out of immediate earshot.

"Felicity," he said softly, prompting her to cast a wary glance over her shoulder; she was surprised to see his uncharacteristically vulnerable expression. "Thank you," he simply said.

She only smiled and nodded.


	3. Another Way

_A/N: I am the actual worst when it comes to updating. Apologies for that. And that said, thank you so much for all the feedback. You make me the happiest of newbie Olicity writers._

* * *

_**III. Another Way**_

It was all over the news the next day.

Whichever channel Felicity turned on was reporting the same story; the great, super-secret task force formed to catch the vigilante had failed. She supposed it did cause too much noise for the people not to notice. And Laurel was making statement after statement, saying that this one failure did not mean they would desist from their goals; the vigilante _would_ be caught.

It was putting Oliver in a _mood_. He wasn't grumpy, she could deal with that; he just looked…sad.

By the time lunch break rolled around, Diggle was in her office, telling her they were heading out to Big Belly Burger. Oliver brooded for the entire length of the ride.

Once they were seated, he did crack a small smile at Carly's greeting and her bringing them their usual orders without needing to be asked.

"So," Felicity began as she slurped on her milkshake, "I hate to talk business, but are we doing damage control?"

Both men frowned.

"What I mean is, Laurel is obviously dead-set on catching the vigilante," she explained, careful to keep her voice low. "She helped set-up a _major_ operation; she's not going to give up anytime soon. Any potential…uh…_feelings_ aside, it could make our crime-fighting lives very difficult, very quickly."

Diggle clucked his tongue then turned to Oliver, as did Felicity; he glanced from one to the other, and sighed. "If we can show her that I'm not the criminal she thinks I am," he said quietly, not looking at either of his companions, "maybe she'll change her mind."

_Painful shipwreck_, Felicity thought. "So, we do our thing, she does hers, and we hope that while doing _her_ thing, she doesn't catch us doing _ours_?" she reiterated, though it did sound much less convoluted in her head.

Surprisingly or not, Oliver's mouth quirked into a fleeting smile. "Yeah," he confirmed.

She pursed her lips then nodded. "Okay. We can be super-secretive." She took another swig of her milkshake. "Speaking of being super-secretive," she said, "do we have a new, you know…mission?"

Oliver and Diggle exchanged glances. "I don't know," Oliver eventually admitted. "I mean, it's not like I have a list to go through now…I don't really know where to start."

The mention of the list brought back thoughts of Isabel Rochev; Felicity had been doing some digging in her minimal spare time, hoping to find something on the other woman. She just couldn't be good news. All her searches had been rather fruitless, though.

Snapping out of that line of thinking, she said, "Well, since you were always good at finding trouble – "

Oliver gave an indignant twitch while Diggle laughed under his breath.

" – maybe you could apply your talents here. You know, go through the streets, find the trouble, eliminate the trouble…the city's overrun with small-time criminals, and dealing with them is part of fixing things too, right?"

Slowly, Oliver nodded.

"So," she proceeded, "fry the small fish, and if you happen to run into big fish in the process, we can take them on, too – of course, we'll be looking for the big fish all the time, in the background, but…oh, you know what I mean."

"Sounds like a plan," Diggle agreed. "And hey, if we give her more crooks to prosecute, maybe Laurel will take it easy with the whole vigilante thing."

Somehow, Felicity doubted Laurel Lance could be so easily distracted.

* * *

In the spirit of not wasting any time, Oliver wanted to try their new regimen that same night.

The plan was for him to cover a ten-block radius of the East Glades on that first night, with the possibility to expand the zone if the need should arise, or the designated area happened to be uneventful – not that there were any real chances of _that_ happening.

Diggle and Felicity would man the comms in turn, keeping the SCPD scanner on idle in the background, with Felicity taking the first shift.

As she waited for Oliver to suit up, she brought up her research on Ms. Rochev and went through it one more time. She nearly squeaked when Oliver's voice sounded from right next to her.

"What's this?"

She brought a hand to her poor, startled heart, taking a deep breath before responding. "It's my side-project," she explained. "Learn all there is to know about Isabel Rochev."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why are you looking into her?"

She gave him a look before returning her eyes to the monitor. "You know why."

With a sigh, he said, "She was on the list."

"_Exactly_. Which means she's up to no good, and I want to know just what kind of no-good we're talking about here, and why she was so adamant on acquiring QC, and why she's still sticking around with no apparent intention to leave anytime soon."

Another deep breath.

"She's not our priority."

She nodded dutifully. "I know that. Like I said, just a side-project."

"Just don't get too caught up in your side-project tonight," he said. "I need you to be my eyes and ears on the streets."

"Don't worry," she reassured. "I'm your trusty little sidekick."

There was a beat before he responded and she let her eyes leave the screen and rise to his; he looked like he was debating with himself before his mouth pulled into an uncharacteristically wide smile. "Well, definitely little," he eventually said, and for a moment, she was too surprised to be affronted.

Was he actually…teasing her? As in, _voluntarily_ engaging in a social activity normal, friendly people were known to dabble into?

His smile slipped as she only stared at him. Then, she realized he was _trying_; to engage, to be friendlier. It made her fight a smile of her own.

"When one is surrounded by giants…" she teased back, restoring his smile almost instantly. He gave her a small nod, squeezed her shoulder lightly, then went on his way.

She kept her smile up, even when she could only see him through the traffic cameras she'd hacked.

* * *

As suspected, the East Glades were not lacking for criminal activity.

By the time Diggle was walking down the stairs, two hours into Oliver's very first patrol of the city, there had been three muggings, one car theft – which Oliver had let slide – five drug sells and one attempted rape.

Maybe patrols were a little more complicated than they had thought.

She sighed in genuine bliss when Diggle materialized by her side. "Oh, thank God, Digg, you're here," she breathed.

"_This was your idea, Felicity_," came Oliver's somewhat annoyed reply, and she glared at the faint outline of him she could see on her screen, perched on his motorcycle at a street corner.

"Yeah, well, the road to hell and all that," she grumbled and closed her eyes; it was not a moment later that Diggle gave her a light tap on the shoulder.

"You should go home," he told her but she stubbornly refused to as much as lift an eyelid.

"I can sleep here," she mumbled. "The chair's comfy."

"I'll need the chair."

"We have other chairs. Just wheel me away into some corner…"

He pinched her.

"Ow!"

"Go home, Felicity," he ordered, very unapologetic. "Aren't you always the one who goes on and on about beauty sleep?"

Grumbling, she rubbed her eyes and pushed herself to her feet, only then remembering her comm link was still open. "Oliver?"

"_Yes, Felicity?_"

"I'd say this was a pleasure, though it really wasn't, but hey, one can't be a fearsome crime-fighter without suffering, right? Goodnight, Oliver, and I hope you fry many a fish." With those parting words, she unceremoniously pulled out her earpiece and dropped it into a smiling Diggle's awaiting hand.

He took over then, while Felicity gathered her things. She hesitated before stepping out; she'd had an idea and thought to see it through herself, though keeping it from Digg and Oliver would be a direct infringement of her own 'no lies' policy.

Still, best to run it only by Diggle first.

"Digg," she called out quietly, lightly tapping on her ear when he swiveled in the chair to face her. Though he frowned, he understood her meaning and muted his end of the comm link.

"So, I have an idea," she said carefully, "but I don't think Oliver is going to like it."

"He rarely does," Diggle deadpanned. "What do you have in mind?"

Resisting the urge to wring her hands, she went on, "So, you know how Detective Lance – well, Officer Lance now – and I have this mutual understanding that may or may not border on a loose definition of friendship?"

Diggle nodded slowly.

"And you know how he doesn't exactly hate the vigilante anymore – kinda likes him, actually…"

"Are you lobbying in favor of recruiting Lance to the cause?" Diggle let out incredulously. "'Cause yeah, Oliver will _definitely_ not like that one."

"Not recruiting, per se," she assured. "Just…Laurel's out to get the vigilante, right? She's also Lance's daughter, and he's kinda-sorta on our side, so…I was thinking, if I ask nicely, maybe he'd be willing to give us a heads-up every now and then, if he knows about what she's planning."

She waited as Diggle thought it over; he seemed torn. "You really think Lance is going to agree to that?" he eventually challenged. "To spy on his daughter?"

"I think there's a chance," she said. "With the right approach. I mean, yeah okay, he'll probably say no, but it's worth a shot, right?"

She received a nod of agreement. "But you're worried about Oliver?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "You know how he is about Laurel. If I suggest we spy on her, he might get" – she struggled for the most fitting description – "_hissy_."

Diggle snorted this time. "I think he'd get more worked up over you calling him hissy than what you're suggesting," he said. "But I'm with you on this one," he added, sobering. "It could be useful to have Lance on our side. I'll back you up when we tell Oliver."

"Thanks, Digg." She smiled. "Well, I'll leave you to your sidekick duties now. 'Night."

"Goodnight," he said to her retreating back, shaking his head at the little wave she threw over her shoulder. Turning his comm off mute, he spoke to Oliver, "All right, Mr. Green Arrow, we – "

One of the screens flashed with an alert from the police scanner; there was a robbery in progress at a 24-hour fast food joint. Diggle sighed; it was going to be a long night.

* * *

The key to dealing with everything in life was a delicate approach.

The key to dealing with Oliver Queen was not so much a delicate approach as it was standing next to many solid surfaces you could duck under.

Predictably, he wasn't all that thrilled with the idea of enlisting Laurel's own father to spy on her.

After yet another QC meeting, Felicity and Diggle had trotted behind Oliver and into his shiny new office, where they had presented him with the plan. He'd scowled at them.

"You have to admit, man," Diggle said when Oliver offered disgruntlement and little else, "if Laurel ever plans another set-up, and Lance leans about it and tells us, it could save us a hell of a lot of trouble."

"We already have a plan to get Laurel to ease up on me," Oliver countered, and bless his heart, he actually sounded like he believed that would put an end to the discussion.

_Tough love it is_, Felicity thought. "No offense," she began, "but _that_ plan relies on wishful thinking. _This_ plan relies on common sense and actual laws of probability – not that you'd really know what those are." She took care to soften her tone as she stepped closer to his desk. "I'm not saying your plan will fail, but you yourself said we need to be more meticulous and careful this time around; so, we get a back-up plan – and possibly a back-up plan for our back-up plan, too, I think that'd be good."

He was quiet for a long time. Eventually, he released a deep breath and simply said, "Fine."

It was so quick and seamless that Felicity almost thought she'd imagined it. "Wait, did you just _agree_?" she let out when it didn't seem like her mind was playing tricks on her. She turned to Diggle; he'd heard him too, right?

"Yes," Oliver said shortly. Then promptly changed the subject. "We need to discuss something else. Like how we're going to explain our constant proximity."

It took a moment for Felicity to register he was only addressing her. Which, for a genius, was rather slow; it wasn't like he needed an excuse for Diggle.

"You…have extremely poor eye-hand coordination and spill a lot of lattes on a lot of computers?" she valiantly offered.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Diggle's eyebrow rise ever-higher at both her words and Oliver's sudden smile. After a moment, she returned it; great memories and all that.

When Oliver spoke again, his tone had lost its sharpness and his posture its tension. "I'm afraid that only worked once," he said.

"Didn't really work that one time either," she countered, her nose scrunching. "That was like, one of worst lies I've ever heard, and I've heard some pretty bad lies – mostly from you. Seriously, how much time did you spend on that one? Or any of the ones that followed? 'Cause they only got worse. I mean, did you even try?"

The slight quirk of his lips grew more secretive; there was some story there, but he just wasn't telling. It only made her curious. Her eyes narrowed, as she tried to figure it out; Oliver still said nothing.

Eventually, Diggle cleared his throat. "So," he prompted, "explanation for Felicity's constant presence?"

She jerked slightly at her name being called; Oliver merely let his eyes slip from hers to Diggle's. "Well, I am CEO now and that means it's my job to get the company back on its feet," he said. "One of the ways to do that is to get ahead of our competitors, and invest in new, lucrative ventures first – "

"Or so '_Business Plans for Dummies_' says," Felicity supplied, much to Diggle's amusement; Oliver started.

She shrugged. "Amazon wish list."

Oliver blinked, stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "Anyway, we need new ventures," he reiterated, "and one possibility is to invest in new computer technologies…"

He let his voice trail off and Felicity knew she was starting to grin.

"Hardware, software, all of that," he went on. "I'm thinking it's really where all the money is these days. In fact, I'm determined to make it one of my top priority projects for QC, to not only acquire these technologies but develop them as well. I'm creating an entire department dedicated to it."

He looked back at her – warmly, she noted. "And I can think of no one better-suited than my trusted friend to put in charge of it."

Her jaw dropped. "You're giving me an entire department to run?" she let out. "As in, _I_ will be sailing that ship?" Her eyes widened. "I'm going to have minions?"

She didn't even notice the wary look Diggle was giving her. "I think you just gave power to the wrong person there, Oliver," he commented. Oliver merely smiled again; he was being exceptionally smiley, Felicity idly observed.

"Since this is a project I'm personally putting forward and overseeing," Oliver spoke again, "it will make sense for us to see each other often without it being suspicious. And your new office is just two floors down."

Felicity was still in somewhat of a daze. "I'm going to have a new office," she whispered, the realization of it all finally sinking in; she promptly panicked. "Oh my God, what if I screw up? What if I bankrupt the company? What if I succeed where Isabel Rochev failed? Oh God…"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupted her babble before it could go any further. "You're going to be fine," he reassured. "You…" He faltered, obviously reaching for something that would demonstrate her capability, but coming up empty. Finally, he said, "You…sit down for a couple of hours on a slow night and write a program that can crack FBI firewalls; you can handle a department."

Well, that was sweet. Surprisingly forthcoming, too. She realized he was still _trying_; that, more than anything, made her breathing return to an acceptable rate, and her lips quirk into a smile. "Thanks," she said earnestly. "You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you?"

He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. But it was.

As she half-stumbled, half-skipped on her way to assess her new office and meet the first of her 'minions', she overhead Diggle speak, just as she went out of earshot. "So, she gets an entire department," he said, "but I'm still just your black driver?"

* * *

Felicity took a deep breath; she could do this. She was the freshly appointed Head of the New Developmental Technologies Department of Queen Consolidated. She had minions. She was in charge. She was the very image of girl power. She was _awesome_.

And yet, the idea of walking up to the mustard-smeared face of Detective Lance – correction, Officer Lance – while he munched on his hot dog, propped on the hood of his patrol car, and suggesting what she was thinking of suggesting _terrified_ her.

_Come on, Felicity_, she told herself as she walked up to him, a little too slowly for it to be a confident stride. _He won't shoot you. Probably._

"Hello, Detective," she offered a stumbling greeting, which, in turn, made the man himself stumble. Surprised, he slipped, righted himself with a contained yelp, then self-consciously dabbed the napkin he held against his mouth; strangely or not, it put Felicity a little more at ease.

"Still not a Detective," he said. "Probably never will be again." He gave her an appraising look. "I'm surprised to see you here. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

All right. Strong and confident. "Well, I…uh…I…" _Yeah, Felicity, that's the way to do it_. "Okay, so you asked me about our…_mutual friend_ the other day," she tried again, clearing her throat. Lance waited a beat, then nodded for her to proceed.

"Well, I did hear from him," she went on, "as did you, actually. I mean, he served those copycat Hoods to you on a platter, so you obviously saw him – and heard from him, I mean, I can't imagine he didn't at least grumble at you, but – anyway, I…" She paused, taking a deep breath. "Besides that, I'm sure you also heard about the…set-up your daughter helped put in place."

Lance's look darkened before he released a sigh. "So I did," he said. "It's funny, a year ago, I was the one chasing the Hood and she was defending him; how the times have changed, huh?"

Felicity offered him a little smile of sympathy.

"Yeah, I heard about the set-up," he continued. "Everyone did. And I also heard our green little friend gave us a helping hand last night," he added. "Going after the scum in the streets, leaving them for us to pick up…" He sighed. "No one else is going to say this, but…it did help. He helped."

Her smile grew. "He's trying another way."

"So he said."

She cocked her head to the side. "He did?"

"Well, while he…_grumbled_ at me the other night, that's what he said."

Reining in on the grin the words brought forth, she proceeded. "So, am I right to assume you're…on his side now, Detective?"

He looked like he was about to correct her on his title again but then dropped it; his brow furrowed the next moment. "Is there any particular reason you're asking?"

"As a matter of fact…yes," she confirmed – very courageously, if she said so herself. "Like I said, your daughter set him up – or she helped set him up – and…and it was a close call. Too close. So…he – well, _we_…it would be good if we knew the next time she has something like that in mind."

She let that sink in. _Three, two, one…_

"You want me to spy on my daughter?"

Yep. There was the outraged tone she'd expected. "Well, yes…and no," she said. "I'm not asking you to go through her stuff, or listen in on her conversations, or anything like that, just…if she slips in front of you, or shares something with you, I'd appreciate it if you let me know. We'd appreciate it."

Slowly, the anger on his face ebbed away; he released a deep breath. "I can…do that," he caved. "If I hear something that might help, I'll let you know."

"Thank you," Felicity told him sincerely, hoping he understood she was truly grateful; he grumbled a little.

"Well, don't thank me yet. She doesn't tell me about her job – she rarely did before, much less now." His eyes grew unfocused, staring at a spot over Felicity's shoulder. "It's just like when we lost Sara," he added on a whisper, more to himself than to her, Felicity supposed.

She understood why he was making the comparison, of course; still, best not to engage in any way. No good ever came out of plunging into the middle of this kind of family business.

After some more chit-chat, she was on her way. It was timely, too, as her lunch break was nearly over.

Oddly or not, it brought a smile to her face to ride the elevator just short of the executive's floor, and step into her – rather spacey, she had to say – new office. She had the desk, and the fancy chair, and the shelves, and the sofa in the corner, and the best OS available – which she fully intended to further tweak, of course.

She was also a mess of nerves, because really, who thought it was a good idea to put a socially awkward MIT graduate in charge of an entire department, upon which the entire stability of the company may come to rest?

Apparently, Oliver.

And _that_ was why she was smiling.

Of course, over the next few days, she learned that his first idea wasn't so much making her the new big kahuna as it was making her his _secretary_; she smiled considerably less after that.


	4. Dissonance

_A/N 1: __I'm amping up the manpain here. Let's be honest, you can't have a story involving Oliver without it. He's like the poster-boy for manpain._

_Also, this chapter may have gotten away from me...like, the characters took the wheel, and I am not responsible for what came out of it._

_P.S. I am no expert in economics (or tech) and I like to think that applying logic to it is the way to go, though I have been told before that logic is not exactly how it works. Still rolling with it, though._

* * *

**_IV. Dissonance_**

_This is bad_, Felicity thought wildly. _This is so bad. Abandon ship, abort mission! Mayday!_

It would help if Ms. Rochev weren't staring at her. Why was she staring at her again? Oh right, they were waiting for her to speak. An entire freaking boardroom. She _did not_ deal well with the spotlight blaring at her face; she was perfectly fine with it blaring at whoever stood _next_ to her, just as long as it wasn't _at_ her, dammit! They were actually expecting her to speak!

This was so bad.

Well, she had lasted a week. A week full of long hours and promising drafts, and here she was now, expected to present it to the board, and her tongue was as tied as that absurdly complicated knot she'd seen Digg make once. And that, she reminded herself, was why making the socially awkward MIT graduate a big kahuna was a bad idea.

There were already rumors circulating, of course, as to why the under-qualified computer nerd would be appointed as Head of Department – and that, by the most under-qualified CEO there ever was. Weren't they the pair?

And this meeting was meant to squash those rumors, because Felicity was supposed to dazzle them all with her prowess, and wittiness, and competence. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly going according to plan.

She chanced a look at Oliver, who, much like everyone else present, was silent as he waited for her to speak. He had an appropriately bland smile plastered on his face. Oh, this was so beyond bad.

"Well, while we wait for Ms. Smoak to find her voice," Ms. Rochev spoke up, turning her cold eyes from Felicity to Oliver, "maybe _you_ can explain to me what kind of fool's business this is. She has no qualifications for her position."

Felicity bit her lip; she knew she was disappointing him, and doing it oh-so-gloriously, and she knew he was as tense as one of his bowstrings beneath the cool façade. Still, his tone was pleasant as he replied. "I've seen Ms. Smoak's work firsthand; she is more than qualified to provide us with the best computer technology out there."

Ms. Rochev didn't seem particularly impressed. Felicity knew she didn't see Oliver as nothing but mindless anymore, but that didn't mean she had let go of the notion he was a child splashing his way through the adults' sandbox. "A computer geek," she deadpanned. "Who has no experience, or degree, in business whatsoever." _Kind of like you_, was mercifully left unsaid.

As it happened, that jab made Felicity speak up – or squeak was more like it, actually. "I have – " _Don't say 'minions', Felicity, do not say 'minions'_ – "consultants." And she did. A whole lot of them. And some of them were financial consultants, and others were her tech-savvy kindred spirits, and they were all really great. Not that Ms. Rochev would care much for that.

All eyes turned to her again; she gulped.

"She does," Oliver confirmed for her, diverting the attention and mercifully buying her some more time. "This is my personal project, and it is very important both to me" – he pointedly turned his eyes back to Isabel – "and this company. So, I've entrusted it to a friend."

Ms. Rochev looked like she was about to smirk in derision. "One doesn't have _friends_ in corporate business, Mr. Queen."

Oliver shrugged casually. "Well, _you_ don't."

From her spot to his left, Felicity stared at him. And here she thought Diggle was the resident shade-thrower extraordinaire. "_Burn_," she mouthed silently as she ducked her head.

"Ms. Smoak," he addressed her next and all her mirth was gone in two seconds flat, "maybe you'd like to start now?"

_Oh…God_.

He was giving her a look that wouldn't be out of place on his bow-totting alter-ego. A moment later, he gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll do it myself if you want," he said, already reaching for the papers she held in her – somewhat sweaty and shaking – hands. She let out a small _eep_ and promptly hugged the folders against her chest.

"You won't be able to read my notes," she muttered. He gave her a bewildered look.

"I write in code, okay?" she hissed under her breath, making his mouth twitch in a way that was just a little bit terrifying.

She took a deep, steeling breath, gulped some more, then lowered the notes back atop the table, smoothing them over for good measure. _All right, Smoak_, she told herself, _it's now or never_.

"As it – " Deep breath. "As it stands now," she tried again, hoping against hope that the heat rushing to her cheeks would just blend in with the blush she'd applied over her foundation, "Queen Consolidated – " She cleared her throat; God, this was worse than that fifth-grade spelling bee where she'd stuttered her way through the entire thing. "Queen Consolidated owns a few subsidiaries that…that deal with computer technology." She was so out of her comfort zone here, it wasn't even funny anymore. If she could just fast-forward this shindig to the part concerning actual tech, it would be marvelous; _that_ was her field, what she was good at. "It's mostly computer parts," she went on, "and it gets the company a buck or two, but it's not something to really invest effort into – not yet anyway. Besides, the company needs funds to invest, and we need to get those first. And Ol – I mean, Mr. Queen, is right to take an interest in computer technology; there's a lot of money that can be made here – on software first. If you know how to do it, and do it well, it takes little funding – mostly because I'll be doing ninety percent of it myself – and gets a lot of revenue. And I know how to do it – extremely well, I might add."

Taking a momentary pause to catch her breath, she noticed the look Oliver was giving her now; it held something suspiciously akin to a mixture of amusement and pride. She realized her hands had stopped shaking.

"What kind of software?" Ms. Rochev prompted, obviously not yet impressed.

_Oh, lady, I will so blow you away_. "Do you know what an operating system is?" Felicity countered with a question of her own, a little surprised by the condescending undercurrent of her voice. By his spot by the boardroom's glass doors, Diggle looked like he was having some trouble with maintaining his poker face.

Isabel Rochev, for her part, didn't seem either offended or startled; there was a slight shift, though. Now, she looked like Felicity had finally gotten her attention. "Sure," she said. "Windows, Mac, that sort of thing?"

"Well, Mac isn't actually the OS for – never mind, uh…yes," Felicity managed to confirm. "Your average user's OS of choice. Now, those who know better will use Linux or write their own source code, but the majority of the tech-impaired – I mean, the general populace, will use Windows or…_Mac_. Except…those are _riddled_ with bugs. And when I say riddled, I _mean_ riddled; you get just a little bit enthusiastic, and those things crash and burn, and go up in flames, and you're just left there crying over the ashes."

Everyone was giving her odd looks now; oh well, they got her point.

"So, what I suggest," she concluded, "is to offer those" – _poor, unfortunate, tortured souls_ – "disgruntled users a quick fix-it for all their troubles. One program installed and _voilà_; no more bugs."

A blink, and Ms. Rochev's face went from intrigued back to unimpressed. "Are you not familiar with basic protection laws, Ms. Smoak? Putting out a fix-it program like that would be a direct infringement of copyright laws."

Now, it was Felicity's turn to look unimpressed; she really didn't like being treated like an idiot. "Not if we market it as a completely separate program," she countered. "A fix-it for _all_ operating systems, not just one specifically. That's one loophole taken advantage of right there. Then, we just have to be careful with the phrasing when patenting the product; dance around the subject, that sort of thing…I'm sure the company's legal experts are really good at that."

"We can play with the language all we want, we're still talking about a product that can cost the systems' owners a lot of money – the one they earn from client support in case of…_bugs_; they won't just let us place this program of yours on the market without a fight. And we can't afford that sort of legal fees."

"Except, they won't be able to stop it," Felicity said with confidence. "Legal-speak aside, the program will not contain a single line of code from the OS' it debugs; there will be no copyright infringement. And it will work on every OS. We market it as an independent upgrade, but everyone will know what it's really for."

Isabel tilted her head a fraction. "How?"

Felicity shrugged. "All it takes a few anonymous leeks online. It'll spread like wildfire, if you plant it in the right places."

"And…it will really be completely removed from the original code, and still work on every system?" Isabel questioned again, growing curious at Felicity's affirmative nod. "You can do that?"

"Can I do that?" Felicity scoffed. "Does the vigilante wear green tights?"

There was a muffled sound from the doorway, and all eyes turned to Diggle, where he was half-bent over, attempting to feign a cough. He raised a hand in apology, still half-facing away and pressing a fist to his mouth to hide his smile.

Felicity kept her eyes pointedly fixed on Isabel Rochev. So okay, that comparison may have been a result of her being _too_ at ease – oh, the turn of fate – but she was going to roll with it. And nope, she was not going to look at Oliver.

Mercifully, Ms. Rochev was talking again. "And if this is as simple as you make it out to be, how hasn't it been done before?"

"It's not _simple_," Felicity said. "I'm just very good at what I do. And others who are as good don't come and work for corporations…or they just take money to keep their ideas under wraps. They value anonymity more than a patent."

"So, if this takes off," Isabel summarized, "that's a lot of money easily earned. Which can then be used to fund other, more ambitious projects."

Felicity nodded emphatically.

Isabel studied her for a moment longer, then nodded herself. "It's…not bad," she allowed. "For someone who really has no idea what they're doing." Felicity could be mistaken, but that did sound like some sort of praise. Ms. Rochev turned to Oliver. "You're smarter than you look, Mr. Queen," she said. "You do know how to delegate work to more capable hands."

And with that, she rose to her feet; the rest of the attendees followed. "I'm not fond of your…eccentricities," she said, extending her hand to Oliver, "but you do have my approval on this. Keep me updated."

Oliver shook her hand politely and nodded in form of goodbye.

"Ms. Smoak," Isabel said on her way out, and Felicity nodded jerkily in response.

The room soon cleared out, save for Felicity, Oliver and Diggle.

She finally chanced a look at the fearsome vigilante. He said only one word. "_Tights_?"

Felicity sighed. He could never just be happy, could he?

* * *

"Still upset over the whole tights thing?" Diggle teased as he cleared out the wrappers from their takeout.

From where he was sharpening his arrows in the basement's corner, Oliver stated, "Not tights."

"Oh, I don't know, man," Diggle said. "I had to wear those…they're pretty tight."

"They…can't be too loose, otherwise they hinder my movements," Oliver grumbled under his breath. "Doesn't make them tights."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Arrow."

Eyes still focused on the arrowhead he was handling, Oliver heard the echo of Felicity's soft laughter. She was by her computers, working on this or that; Oliver supposed it was probably the program she wanted to design for QC. They'd given themselves the night off, to celebrate success, and it had been his treat. Burgers and shakes in the…lair. Felicity called it the lair. It kind of got stuck in his head.

Momentarily pausing in his task, he cast a sideways glance at his companions. Felicity pointed to something on the screen with enthusiasm, then clapped to herself. Diggle chuckled and offered some words of congratulations, and Felicity raised her loosely curled fist up over her shoulder, so John could bump it in passing as he made a beeline for the trashcan.

And God help him, that seamless little gesture filled Oliver with such longing.

He wanted to have it, too, that easygoing camaraderie Digg and Felicity shared. And he was trying; he was being friendlier, and he took interest, and he did his best to make them feel valued. He knew they saw right through him, though; his attempts were painfully obvious, and maybe a little stilted, and sometimes just plain over the top. They knew what he was doing. And they didn't call him on it; they just let him, and he appreciated that.

But he wanted for it to come naturally, like it did for them. He wanted to be able to fist-bump Felicity without her, probably, blinking up at him in shock and looking around for the hidden camera. He wanted to deliver friendly punches to Diggle's shoulder without the other man, on a good day, taking his temperature and asking what drugs he'd taken. The simple truth was, it didn't come naturally to him; not anymore. Somewhere along the way, and on the island, he'd lost the ability to connect with people through easy gestures, to be warm without reminding himself that he had to be so – that had gone out the window with a good chunk of his humanity, he supposed.

He just didn't fit.

And he didn't know _how_ to make himself fit again.

He couldn't play it up here; not with them. Out of those he cared for that surrounded him, they were his most recent acquaintances, and yet, they somehow knew him better than anyone. And they saw right through him.

The greater part of him knew he shouldn't want it; the closeness. The attachment. He'd been warned against that, and he had learned his lesson. He'd had a team of sorts like this once before and sometimes, he wondered if maybe he wasn't subconsciously drawn to recreate it here, in Starling City; if maybe, in Diggle and Felicity, he was looking for a new Slade, and a new Shado.

It could be so. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But the lesson always remained; he had lost his old team, and he could lose this one, too. He could lose them so easily.

So, he shouldn't want the attachment. But he did.

He wanted it so badly.

* * *

Felicity let out a contended sigh; she was actually ahead of schedule with her program. Still, moving a bit further along while she was in the proverbial zone wouldn't be a bad idea; with her very busy crime-fighting schedule, there were no guarantees she would get a chance to work uninterrupted again on any given day. But more work also required more coffee.

She grabbed her cup, spun her chair around on a twirl, rose to her feet, and frowned.

Oliver was staring at her – or _through_ her, would probably be more fitting. She tipped her head to the side, changing course, and going to him instead of upstairs for a refill.

He actual started at her sudden proximity and it only served to worry her further. "Oliver," she prompted softly, "you okay?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. _No lies_.

Still, he didn't seem to have any truths to spill either and just gave her a little shrug, before returning his attention to the arrow in his hands. Her frown deepened. She ran a mental recap of the evening, trying to pinpoint the moment when he'd gone from almost cheery to this particular brand of brooding; nothing really stuck out.

Then, she considered all the usual suspects. Laurel? Nah, probably not today. Family drama? Nothing in particular there; Moira was still awaiting trial, and Thea was doing great. Doubting everything from their pursuit of heroics to the meaning of life? Yeah, probably that one.

With a sigh, she asked, "Are you having misgivings about the cause again?"

He didn't respond immediately, and maybe it was the wrong conclusion, but she jumped to it anyway. "Hey," she said, a little sharply, making his eyes snap up to hers, "what we're doing here…it's great stuff, okay?"

"Felicity – "

"No, look," she interrupted, "I know we're still stumbling through the dark a little, but…" She sighed. "We'll make it all work. We'll clean up the streets, and we'll restore Queen Consolidated to its former glory, and we'll…change this city for the better. And then – " she spread her arms out, forgetting she still held her, thankfully empty, cup – "we'll help your family, and your mom. And after that, we'll go after Lawton, and we'll take him down, so Digg doesn't have to remember his brother's killer every time he looks at Carly, and then – " She allowed her brain cells a moment to regroup. "And then, if we can catch a moment to breathe, maybe we'll make Laurel see you for who you really are." She gave him a smile and a little shrug. "A hero."

* * *

_Hero_.

His every muscle tensed at the word. It came as a reflex, and all he wanted was to deflect. Just deflect. Change the subject. Anything not to hear any more of it.

Instead, he found himself muttering, "I'm not a hero, Felicity."

And because she was Felicity, she rolled her eyes. "Well, of course you can't _say_ you are," she said. "I mean, if you go around calling yourself a hero, you'll just…sound like a pompous ass."

He felt the involuntary smile touch his lips and immediately reined in on it; there was nothing to smile about.

She was talking again. "It only counts when others say it, and since I'm saying it, then – "

He didn't even know where the anger came from. But to hear her call him that, actually believe it, just made him…angry.

"Well, you're wrong," he cut her off, a little too loudly, making her stop short and blink up at him. "I'm not a hero, and…" He let his eyes linger on the ground before meeting hers again. "And this is not about turning me into one, or whatever it is that you're thinking."

"I'm – " She shook her head. "Okay, I know it's hard for _you_ to see, but from where I'm standing, you're doing what _heroes_ do. I mean, hey, I can pull up Webster's definition of the word, and run a point-by-point comparison if you want, but – "

_Stop talking_, he thought. _Just stop talking_.

"You know, Felicity, I'm starting to think _you're_ the one who doesn't actually see me for who I really am."

The words were biting and sharp, and they made her quiet instantly. She stared at him, like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard him say; to be honest, he couldn't quite believe it either.

He let out a deep breath. "I – I didn't mean it…like that, Felicity," he tried to backtrack, but no backpedaling was getting him out of this one.

He was aware of Diggle's quiet footfalls, too, as the man emerged from the training area; brought out by his raised voice, no doubt. Felicity was still just staring at him.

Finally, she huffed and raised her hands, as if surrendering. "You know what, I'm too tired to deal with this," she snapped. "And you know why I'm tired? Because all day, I either try to find a way to save _your_ company and rack my brain for ways to make this insanely complicated program that will help _you_, or spend hours hacking into every federal agency out there for _you_, or hey, try to find way to buy all of this" – she gestured to their surroundings – "and get you that custom-made bow without having the FBI flag me down and show up on my door, because hey, why would a simple IT expert be buying all of that – and why exactly is it all going to Oliver Queen's basement? – but I'm not even an IT expert anymore, am I? No, I'm heading a department now, which I have no idea how to do, and guess why is that? Well, because and for _you_, of course, so I can be here and help _you_ with this little quest for justice we have going on!" She was right in his face now, raising her voice with each word. "But yeah, _I'm_ the one who doesn't know, or doesn't 'see', you!"

She poked him in the chest. "You know, Oliver, all those little things you've been doing? Like, buying us burgers, and being all friendly and whatever – it's great, it's awesome, but it'd be better if you actually _meant_ any of it."

He opened his mouth to protest to that – because he did mean it – but she was already stomping back to her desk, and gathering her things with angry movements; the loud clang of her coffee mug hitting the desk echoed throughout the space, making him flinch.

"And one of these days," she spoke again, shutting off her system with more force than necessary, "maybe you'll actually get over yourself. But then again, you probably won't."

And with that, she was out the door, the click of her heels somehow sounding like yet another manifestation of her anger, and he didn't get a single word in; not that he knew what to say, really.

Diggle was still standing behind him. "Got anything to add?" Oliver asked quietly, decidedly looking anywhere but at his partner.

The other man was silent for a moment, then clucked his tongue. "No, I think she covered everything," he said flatly and simply retired back to the training area.

Now left to his own devices, Oliver bowed his head; he shouldn't want attachments.

* * *

He almost sighed in relief when he found her in her office the next morning; though, rationally, he knew she wouldn't just pack her bags and quit, he still carried the tension in his shoulders from the moment he woke up right up to the one when he found her sitting at her desk.

He'd left her alone the previous night, knowing he was never good at controlling his temper after a fresh fight; better to sleep on it first.

Well, that was more of a figure of speech than anything else. In truth, he hadn't actually slept much – not that he averaged the recommended eight hours anyway. Instead, he'd – and he would never admit to it – gone to see Laurel.

It was just…a gut reaction. Despite it being their night off, he'd donned the hood, grabbed his bow, and hightailed it to the DA's office; he knew Laurel would be there, working late. He didn't know what he was expecting, or how going there was a sensible thing to do; just that he wanted to make her see him differently – and he wanted it _now_, long-term plans be damned.

At first, he didn't understand his own thought process. Felicity called him a hero. Felicity then yelled at him. And that, of course, made him go to Laurel to…try and make her see him as some sort of hero, which he wasn't, and had previously snapped for being thought of as such. Didn't make much sense.

It was after, when he tossed and turned in his bed at the mansion, that it became clearer.

Stupidly, a part of him had believed Felicity. Maybe it wasn't just distorted vision through rose-colored glasses, and maybe her faith wasn't just an innocent's last-ditch attempt to escape the dissonance, between being pure and helping someone like him. And for a stupid, fleeting moment, he'd believed it. But it didn't count until Laurel confirmed it, right?

Except she didn't.

She didn't, and he'd been right. He was no hero.

To Laurel he was a killer, and a criminal, and she would hunt him down. Because, the bottom line was, he hadn't saved Tommy. He hadn't saved five hundred and two more. He hadn't saved anyone.

Heroes were saviors, and he was no hero.

So, he couldn't have Felicity thinking he was one. There was no point in wishful thinking, and embellishments such as this one could only lead to disaster in the long run.

He also wanted her to…well, not be angry with him. Not that _that_ was the priority here.

Mindful to get on her good side again, he did the polite thing and knocked lightly on the half-open door.

Her head snapped up and a mild frown settled on her features the moment her eyes landed on him.

"Hey," she said, a little uncertainly. "Come on in."

He did as he was bid, closing the door fully as he settled into one of the visitors' chairs. "Hey," he echoed as he sat down, striving to give her some sort of smile; he was sure it ended up looking more like a grimace. Well, to her anyway; he'd come to learn that she sorted his attempts at smiling in two distinct categories: genuine and robotic.

"So," she began, "are you going to try and buy me with a new piece of equipment, or are you going to genuinely apologize? 'Cause if it's the latter, let me just get my voice recorder so I can prove it actually happened."

Even she would have to sort his ensuing smile into the 'genuine' category, he thought. "I was hoping to do it off the record, but okay," he said. She blinked before settling back against her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she prompted, "I'm waiting."

And now for the hard part.

He cleared his throat before proceeding. "What I said last night…it was uncalled for," he began tentatively, "and I'm sorry. But…" How was he supposed to explain this? Why hadn't he written a speech? _Right, because she'd see through it in a heartbeat_, he answered his own sullen question.

He tried a different approach. "It's not that I don't appreciate everything you do for me, Felicity, because I do." He chuckled faintly. "Actually, you…probably do a great deal more than I deserve. But, uh…" He brought his eyes to hers, hoping she would understand this. "I…I can't have you seeing me as more than I am, Felicity," he said, not sure if she was grasping what he was trying to convey. "It's…dangerous. If…if you expect more from me than what I'm capable of, then it's going to lead to…uh…"

"A massive implosion that's going to tear a hole in the space-time continuum and destroy humanity as we know it?" she supplied.

He frowned. "Something like that."

"Hm."

That was all she said. Just…_hm_.

And then she was quiet, for a long time. In fact, in the entire time he'd known her, he'd never seen her this quiet. It was…unsettling.

Eventually, she sighed. "Okay," she said, "I promise never to mention the h-word again. In fact, I won't even think of the h-word again, ever. Happy?"

_Happy_ wasn't exactly how he'd describe himself but he nodded nevertheless.

"Oh, and that thing you said, about not expecting more from you than what you're capable of?" she added. "Remember that next time you ask _me_ to juggle hunting down bad guys, saving your company, hacking from sunrise 'til sundown and, oh, you know…_breathing_."

He did his best to stifle his smile. "Point taken," he acknowledged dutifully.

She looked appeased for a moment before heaving another sigh. "Look, Oliver, I get where you're coming from, but – "

He tensed.

" – but you didn't exactly expect you'd be capable of doing the whole vigilantism thing another way, right?" she challenged. "And you didn't expect you'd be capable of running your company. So, all I'm saying is, you don't really know all the things you're capable of either."

He could so easily turn those words on her. _She_ was the one who didn't know all the things he was capable of; she didn't know about a lot of things he'd done, and he wagered she didn't think he was capable of any of them. The truth was, he was capable of _anything_, be it good or bad. She thought he was capable of being a hero; he was just as capable of being a monster.

So yes, he could turn those words on her. But he didn't. He rather liked being on her good side.

"And that's the last you'll hear from me on the matter," she promised. "From now on, my lips are sealed."

"I'm holding you to that," he said. "And, uh…why don't you take the day off?" he suggested. "Get a few hours to…_breathe_."

"Tempting, but I can't," she declined – with great suffering, it seemed. "The code for this is _so_ tedious to work out" – she gestured to her screen – "and I can't really ask my minions – and don't ever let it spread that I call them that – to help, unless it's with the small stuff. So, no day off for me."

"How about the night off, then?" he offered an alternative.

Her eyes widened. "Two in a row?"

He shrugged. "Well, you didn't get much rest last night," he pointed out. "So, take tonight off. I'm sure Digg and I will manage."

She seemed so impossibly torn. "Okay," she accepted, sounding like she'd just agreed to jumping off a cliff and hoping for the best rather than taking one night off. "But if anything super-important comes up, you'll call me, right?"

"Promise."

With one final smile, he rose to his feet. "I better get going," he said. "I have to…talk to Isabel. About approving the funding for your project, and…I think I'm seeing someone from the legal department, too…"

She raised an amused brow as he trekked his way to the door, dragging his feet all the while.

"You'd so much rather be climbing trees and picking coconuts, wouldn't you?" she called out as he pulled at the doorknob.

"I never did that," he tossed over his shoulder indignantly, as he made his way down the hallway. He was sure he'd left her cackling in his wake.

* * *

_A/N 2:_ _I keep dropping Chlollie references all over the place. And I'm...really not as sorry as I should be._

_...don't look at me._


	5. A Favor Between Friends

**_V. A Favor Between Friends_**

Felicity had to admit, it was…weird.

After all those months of considering downtime to be some mystical concept found only in fairytale land, having a night off all to herself was…weird.

She was picking up enough burgers and fries for a family of six and more soda any human should ever ingest, and once the order was up, she would go up to her apartment, have two-hours-long phone calls with her friends – and aunt Mel, mustn't forget aunt Mel – do some programming that would _relax_ her brain for once, all the while munching on her delicious takeout. It was exactly the sort of thing she was known to do before she had hopped onto Oliver's crusade-train.

It was weird.

She took hold of her bags, her stomach grumbling in anticipation of all those Big Belly Burger's delicacies in her hands, merrily spun on her heel, and nearly lost her balance as she froze in the spot.

Coming face to face with Thea Queen, who stood hand-in-hand with one Felicity could only assume to be the infamous criminally-sophisticated boyfriend, was a variable she hadn't considered in the evening's equation.

"Hey," Thea greeted once she recognized her. During Oliver's absence, the two of them had come to be on a first-name basis; sort of. Felicity spent too much time around Verdant and its basement, so running into Thea had been inevitable; a crisis was averted when Felicity offered to restore the 'internet' and all other tech for the club to its former glory, pro bono.

"Thea, hi," Felicity found her voice, growing a little self-conscious when both Thea and her boy-toy raised their eyebrows in unison at the ridiculous amount of food she held.

"Having friends over tonight?" Thea queried casually. Naturally, it made Felicity trip over her own tongue.

"Oh, no, this is just for me, no friends – I mean, no friends _tonight_, I'm – I'm not a loner or anything, I have friends – lots of friends – just…not…tonight."

Yes, that went well.

Having already been privy to a babble or two, Thea only chuckled; Roy looked bewildered.

"Well, I know you at least have _one_ friend," Thea said lightly. "Speaking of, could you like, _not_ tell my brother you saw us" – she gestured between herself and Roy – "tonight? I don't need another interrogation."

Felicity nodded dutifully. "Sure."

"And on that note," Thea went on, "let me make the official introductions. Felicity, this is Roy – and I'm sure you know all about him from Ollie's disapproving rants. Roy, this is Felicity. She's, probably against her better judgment, my brother's friend – and employee, too."

Felicity gave a little awkward wave. Roy took a moment to observe her, his eyes narrowed a fraction; he looked like he was assessing her, then shook his head the next moment, as if discarding whatever idea he'd had from his mind.

_Weird_, Felicity thought.

"Nice to meet you," Roy eventually said.

"Likewise." And that was her cue, Felicity supposed. "Well, I'm off. You two have fun. Or don't. Whichever. I don't need to know." Deep breath. "Yeah. Bye."

"Bye, Felicity," Thea offered her own – much less awkward – farewell, while Roy presented her with a small wave, and with that, Felicity was on her way.

One relaxing, crime-free coming right up.

* * *

Well, she had gotten the crime-free part right, at least.

Not that having five lengthy phone conversations in a row wasn't relaxing. It was totally relaxing. Especially all the lying, and omission of truth, and excuses for not calling more often; so relaxing.

At least she had gotten a chance to chat with her close ones, she supposed. Two childhood friends, and two college buddies, and one very special aunt Mel. Out of everyone she sort of neglected due to her side-life, aunt Mel was the one that weighed the heaviest on her conscience. Mel – short for Melinda, but never call her that to her face, or you will be sorry – was not just family, she was the _only_ family. If not for her, Felicity would have ended up in a foster home, after her father had passed away when she was fifteen.

Sometimes, her life's story sounded kind of terrible, when you put it out there without context. Mother deceased after a struggle with cancer when she was ten. Father dead from a heart attack five years later. And only her mother's sister left to take care of her.

Yeah, it sounded pretty terrible.

And it had been, at the time – both times, actually. Mel had done her best to get Felicity through it, and she had done a really good job, too, if the present was any indication – which her niece made sure to tell her as often as she could.

Which, as it were, was not very often at all.

Felicity grabbed another mouthful of fries.

Guilt-tripping was the worst way to relax ever.

_Enough_, she told herself. _You are going to catch up on a show, then be a good Samaritan and crack the latest version of 'Call of Duty' for kids in need, and then you're going to eat all these burgers and pass out until Oliver calls you in a panicked frenzy because you've overslept_.

Yes, that sounded like a plan.

She made herself comfortable, booted up the DVR, and lost herself in the flickering images across her screen for a solid couple of hours.

And then, a ping.

She groaned in misery, her head lolling against the back of the couch. A ping could only mean one thing; one of the five independent searches and programs she had running at all times had a hit.

Not so crime-free after all.

Her eyes turned to the ceiling. "This is my night off, universe," she lamented. "Did you not get the memo?"

Resolving herself to a life of misery and cursing what had to be her bad karma – though why she had suck bad karma escaped her – Felicity made her way to her laptop, bringing it back with her and setting it snuggly in her lap.

"All right," she said, "let's see what you've got."

She pulled up the alert, skimmed over the info, and blinked.

Well, that was new.

* * *

"I bring news!" she declared bright and early the next morning, bursting into Oliver's office before he had even had the chance to do much other than hang his coat. Both he and Diggle gave her curious looks.

"Good morning, sunshine," Diggle greeted, raising an eyebrow at the flurry of movement she made for.

Oliver, on the other hand, seemed to be in more of a monosyllabic mood. "News?" he merely echoed.

She nodded emphatically, opening her tablet and waiting for the men to gather over her shoulder. She began pulling up the pictures. "So, one of my searches came up with something last night – and before you say anything, it was an automated search so I technically didn't break the rules of a night off – and I think you guys should see this."

A few more clicks and some blurry pictures came up. "What am I looking at?" Oliver queried, and she could just tell he was doing that frowning thing he liked to do.

"Well," she began to explain, "since I have free access to the city's surveillance cameras, I set up a search – well, an algorithm, but never mind – to pick up appearances of people in masks. After the copycat Hoods and everything, I thought I'd be good to keep an eye out for other possible shady folks with the same idea – you know, in case you'd started a movement."

Oliver's indignant grumble was met with Diggle's chuckle and approval of Felicity's methods.

She proceeded. "So, the search is designed to pick up any instances of someone with their face partially or entirely obscured, and look for patterns, but I did set the alert to go off after four sightings, to minimize the margin for error – you know, 'cause sometimes there's Halloween, and then sometimes someone's just trying to rob a liquor store with stockings on their head…"

"Still doesn't explain what I'm looking at," Oliver pointed out, and Felicity was momentarily distracted by the puff of air that blew just by her ear; why was he leaning in so close anyway?

Probably trying to focus his ninja-sight in order to get a better look, she thought. It was still distracting.

"Right," she cut to the chase. "Well, my search picked up something – someone, actually." She zoomed in on the picture, applied the corrections, and though it was still grainy, the shape was clearly discernible. "A woman," she said. "Dressed in black from head to toe and wielding some kind of metal staff-thing, has been hitting the Glades, and this is where it gets interesting; she's only targeted and taken down low-lives who've been creeping on other women."

Diggle hummed. "That's new."

"My thoughts exactly, Digg," Felicity agreed. "From the looks of it, she's on a one-woman mission to nip misogyny in the butt. It's kind of awesome."

"Trained?" was Oliver's next question and Felicity rolled her eyes; he couldn't just share her enthusiasm here, could he? Also, who in their right mind would be asking _her_ this question?

She spun on her heel, stumbling backward a step when her field of vision was suddenly filled with nothing other than his chest and the stubble on his chin; he'd really been leaning in too close.

Righting herself, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Oliver, how am I supposed to know that?" she demanded. "I have no way of telling who's trained and who's not. Which is why" – she gave him a pointed look when he looked like was about to speak – "_you_ are going to go over the footage, and use _your_ ninja-radar to see if this lady is in fact a fellow ninja."

"I'm not actually a – never mind." He sighed. "You said she went after men who target women?" At Felicity's affirmative nod, he seemed to turn pensive. "Another vigilante?"

"Could be," Diggle allowed. "Whether you like it or not, man, you did set up a precedent. You know, getting justice yourself when the system won't…this woman could have the same idea." His voice turned harder as added, "Violence against women is one of the most rampant crimes, and it's also one law enforcement is doing the least about."

Felicity gave a bitter nod.

"If that's her purpose," Oliver spoke again, "it might still be good to learn more about her."

"To see if she has your sense of boundaries and restraint?" Diggle guessed, to which Oliver nodded. "And if she doesn't?"

Oliver cast a sidelong glance at Felicity before simply shrugging. "Them we help her get it, if she wants," he said simply.

Felicity blinked at him before breaking out into a grin.

Diggle chuckled. "Well, it looks like she already has a fan."

Felicity felt she was completely justified in sticking her tongue out at him. As she reverted back to seriousness, she caught Oliver's look, and it gave her pause; it was fleeting, as everything Oliver did was, but the little glimpse she got seemed filled with…longing. Which was just…silly.

She shook her head. "Okay, so I'll see what more I can dig up," she concluded. "In the meantime, I think we might have a likely source close to home, actually." She turned her attention back to the tablet, pulling up the footage that had caught her eye the previous night. "Exhibit B," she presented the screen to her comrades. "Now, I know it's dark and blurry, but recognize that red hoodie?"

Oliver's expression was, by her estimate, priceless. "That's Roy," he mumbled.

"Mm-hmm," Felicity confirmed as Diggle leaned in with curiosity. "I thought it looked familiar when I first watched the surveillance from the traffic cam, and then I remembered I'd seen it earlier last night – I mean, month…year…just, you know, around – I mean, he wears that thing everywhere, and yeah, he's at the club a lot, and I was at the club a lot, and – anyway, I remembered it. So, that's Roy."

She promptly ignored the looks both men were giving her. "It looks like he was coming to the rescue of a woman who was being harassed by some creeps," she went on, "but the lady with the staff beat him to the punch. And well, since he's your number one fan" – she turned her eyes to Oliver – "maybe, if your alter-ego asked nicely, he'd be willing to share or, you know…snoop around for us."

Oliver seemed the furthest thing from happy with the idea.

"She has a point, Oliver," Diggle encouraged. "The kid could help."

"I don't like the idea of him involved," Oliver complained. "He's…untrained, too much of a hothead…"

"Don't forget star-struck," Felicity supplied with a grin; Oliver didn't seem to find it all that amusing.

"Well, if you give him a purpose and proper guidance…" Diggle spoke up, his tone just a little too mocking.

Oliver didn't deign to respond.

Felicity rolled her eyes; he was going to cave eventually and they all knew it.

"While you ponder on that," she said, "I have some more news." _And not the cheery kind this time_. "On Isabel Rochev." That perked both men's interest. "I gave my side-project some attention last night – don't give me that look, I couldn't get back into night-off mode after that ping – and I got…well, either creative or desperate, depends on how you look at it." She turned her eyes solely on Oliver. "I went through her internet history, going back two years. Nothing really pops up, except…except from around the time you returned from the island." She frowned; how sad was it that that sentence needed an addendum? "The first time," she clarified, and with that, Oliver went stock-still.

"She researched everything about your return," Felicity informed. "She looked at every news report, every snippet of you caught on camera – every snippet of _anyone_ who was in contact with you. Then, she looked up your history – you know, pre-island stuff. She was looking into you."

This was turning into a very uncomfortable conversation, very quickly. Still, it needed to be said. "And then she just stopped," she went on. "She dug up everything she could, and then nothing. No searches after that."

Oliver was silent, his eyes going to the room's far end; both Felicity and Diggle waited him out.

"Do you know _why_ she was looking into me?" he eventually queried, his voice quiet.

Regretfully, Felicity had to shake her head. "No," she admitted. "There's nothing else there that I could connect it to. Then again, the only IP addresses I could tie to her were those of her office computer at Stellmoore International and of the one associated with her home address…right now, I couldn't tell you if she used any other engines, and for what."

"It could be nothing," Diggle hedged. "Just curiosity about the prodigal son's return."

Felicity gave him a look. "Do you really believe that?" she challenged. "You don't dig that deep put of curiosity – and I would know. Besides, Isabel Rochev looks like the last person who would be interested in that kind of thing. You heard the way she talked to Oliver when they first met…she thought he was the lowest of the low – no offense, Oliver."

He made a slight gesture, as if to say that none was taken.

"And if she looked into him," Diggle followed Felicity's line of thought, "then that's probably where she got the idea."

Felicity agreed with a nod, then turned to Oliver, who was yet to speak. After a moment, he took a deep breath and straightened. "This is no longer just a side-project," he declared. "Like you said, Felicity, she was on the list, and that means nothing she does can be taken lightly."

"I'll get on it," she promised.

He was halfway through a nod before he paused. He pursed his lips, then stepped closer to her. Next thing Felicity knew, his hand was on her shoulder. She peered up at him, frowning. He seemed to be looking for the words he wanted to say for a moment, and then presented her with a slight tilt of his head. "It's a lot of work," he said, "between the program you're designing, and all these searches…so, Digg and I will take on the woman in black, and I will talk to" – his expression soured and Felicity had to smile – "Roy." He shook the thought of his little sister's boyfriend off and proceeded with, "We'll take care of all that."

She had to admit, his unprompted thoughtfulness warmed her heart just a little too much. Kind of like his lingering hand did her skin.

"Thanks," she said, though the delivery was just a touch breathier than she had intended.

He gave her one last smile before letting go.

"And on that note," he said, "I need to go through the legal department's first draft for your patent…and I need to find someone to get it for me."

Diggle shook his head. "What you need is a PA, Oliver," he deadpanned.

"I don't like the idea of…an outsider being so close to me at all times," Oliver countered. "It's exactly why I wanted to make Felicity my PA" – she bestowed him with her best stink-eye and he raised his hands in surrender – "but I didn't. For now, the lack of a secretary or a PA can just be attributed to Oliver Queen's eccentricities, and I plan to take advantage of that for as long as I can."

Diggle made a face, forcing Felicity to stifle a smile; his aversion to Oliver's referral to himself in third person was one she often shared. It _was_ kind of freaky.

"Well," she spoke up, "I'm sure one of my lovely minions won't mind getting it for you. You'll have it in a few minutes. My minions are very efficient."

He shook his head at her term of choice for her assistants.

"Are you nice to them?" Diggle inquired, striving for stern.

"Very nice," she confirmed. "I love my minions. And I think they like me, too…they said that I'm the nicest boss they're ever had…though that's probably because I don't really know _how_ to be a boss…"

"Well, you'll learn, I suppose."

She shuddered. "I hope not."

That earned her a nod of approval and with that, she was on her way. She already had the draft waiting on her desk when she arrived, and she put Cheryl, her legal consultant, in charge of procuring a copy for Oliver as well. After a snarky, "Are you sure he'll know how to read it?" and a promise from Felicity not to repeat the comment to another living soul, Cheryl completed the task in record time.

Of course, then Cheryl had to sit down and explain some of the more convoluted terms to her boss, and Felicity had to admit; law was complicated stuff.

* * *

Oliver's eyes were crossing. He prided himself on his endurance, and patience, and focus, but reading legal documents was more of an exercise in maintaining his sanity than anything else. Maybe he shouldn't have been so eager to drop out of every Ivy League college.

Some five hours in, a knock brought him out of the painstaking attempt to read through the entire draft and actually judge its merit with any sort of accuracy.

His eyes met Diggle's as they rose from the paperwork.

"Laurel is here to see you," he informed.

Oliver blinked; well, that was…unexpected. He nodded slowly. "Send her in, please."

"Of course," Diggle acquiesced, though with a lot of sarcasm. "And just for the record," he added as he made to exit, "I'm not your secretary either."

Before Oliver could reply, Diggle was leaving and Laurel was stepping inside. Her eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Do you not have a PA or did they already quit?"

"I'm…trying a different approach to this CEO thing," he said, offering her a smile as he gestured towards the visitor's chair. "Have a seat."

He took a moment to observe her as she settled in, and she looked…tired. Worn out. He didn't like seeing her this way. "So, what brings you by, Laurel?"

She looked like she was about to speak but closed her mouth shut before any words left it, and her brow furrowed; he followed her line of sight to the slightly mangled pile of papers on his desk. "What's that?" she traded his question for one of her own.

He resisted the urge to groan. "My friend is designing a software for QC – Felicity Smoak, I'm not sure if you remember her."

Laurel took a moment to sift through her memories, but her features soon cleared in recollection. "I saw at Verdant, right? She was setting up your internet or something."

He nodded. "Yeah. She was an IT expert here, and I recently promoted her…she's heading up a department now, and she's designing this new program, which is basically the thing that's going to save the company. It's a new patent, so lots of…paperwork, and I'm" – he heaved a long-suffering sigh – "going through it all."

She gave him a knowing look. "And how much of it did you actually understand?"

"The…small words," he grumbled.

Laurel's lips pressed together to contain her laughter; shaking her head, she extended her hand. "Gimme."

At his resulting frown, she rolled her eyes. "I'll take a look, see if there's something you should have amended. Corporate law is not my area, but I did go to law school, so…you know, I think I'll understand the 'big words', too."

He tried not to look too hasty in gathering all the sheets and handing them to her.

She took hold of them, settled back and began reading, grabbing one of his pens to have in hand should she need to add some remarks. She nodded and hummed here and there, and for a while, he just watched her work in silence.

She was the one to break it. "Felicity is releasing it under an assumed name?" she asked – or rather, stated.

He nodded. "She's doing it as a favor to me…her only condition was that she gets to preserve her anonymity."

"It's a big favor," Laurel commented.

"It is," he agreed. "I'm…trying to make it worth her while."

"It's a good thing," Laurel said softly, raising her eyes from the paperwork, "that you're surrounding yourself with friends here." She paused, looking uncertain for a moment, then sighed. "Speaking of friends…I, uh…well, I didn't actually come here to help you understand legal documents."

That sounded very…ominous. He gestured for her to continue.

"I'm...I'm here to tell you something, and I want you to hear it from me first," she said. "As ADA, I will…be joining the prosecution in your mother's trial."

His blood ran cold. "You…you're going to prosecute my _mother_?"

"_Help_ prosecute, and – well, yes and no." She sighed again, her fingers curling around the pen she held as she gathered herself. "My boss is very serious about this, Ollie…he wants to prosecute her to the full extent of the law, and he wants to make an example…" She bit her lip. "He's going to ask for the death penalty, Oliver."

The wave of shock made his every muscle lock into place, and he sat entirely still. "You're going to help the DA hang my mom?" he asked quietly, the words feeling like acid on his tongue.

Laurel blinked. And then, she looked nothing but affronted. "Of course not!" she denied, her voice rising a decibel or two. "Do you really think I would want to see Moira dead, no matter the circumstances?"

He threw his hands up. "Well, then I don't understand, Laurel! What are you saying here?"

She took deep breaths, her eyes falling to her hands. "Tommy, he…"Another deep breath. "Tommy always said his dad was a monster, that he was cold, that he didn't have a heart," she spoke quietly, and though her eyes were averted, Oliver knew they were likely to be filling with tears. "And we…you and I, we always told him that Malcolm was still his dad, and that he couldn't be that bad…" She took one last, deep and steeling breath before meeting his eye again. "But Tommy was right," she said. "Malcolm Merlyn was a monster. And we didn't listen. He was a monster, and he forced Moira into helping him, I do believe that. And I do want justice for everyone who died or suffered when the Glades fell, including Tommy, but I don't want anyone else to lose their life over it…and I certainly don't want it for your mom."

She squared her shoulders. "So, I may be joining the prosecution, but that means I can…I can tell you what arguments we're putting forward, so you can plan your defense accordingly, and if it turns out that the jury isn't buying it, I can help get your mom a deal…I have to be on the prosecutor's bench for that, I can't do anything from the sidelines."

Oliver looked down in shame. "You're trying to help," he realized.

"It's the only way I know how."

He brought his eyes back to her. She was unsettled and fidgeting, and the hand she rubbed over her forehead was a thing of the weary; she was drowning.

"Thank you," he said earnestly. He gave her a moment to herself, then asked, "Laurel, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

She wasn't. He'd tried to feed that same lie to Felicity and Diggle enough times to spot it.

Before he could prod further, she spoke up. "Of course, this means we can't be seen together – at least not too often," she said. "I've already had some trouble arguing that there's no conflict of interest for me here, so it's best not to poke that bear any more than necessary. If I know something, I'll let you know, but since all electronic or phone conversations are susceptible to be monitored, we'll have to forgo those. If we ever do talk or text, it won't be about Moira's trial."

"Felicity could encrypt our conversations."

She raised an eyebrow. "Or we could just use burner phones."

He pursed his lips. "Right."

"And we can't be seen alone too often until it's over. But…if we do this right, maybe we'll manage to avoid another tragedy."

Before Oliver could blink, she was on her feet. "The documentation looks like a promising start," she said. "I hope this does turn out to be the golden goose you're hoping for. I'll just…leave you to your business now."

She was at the door in a blur. "Laurel," he called out, stopping her in her tracks. She stilled, balled her hands into fists then unclenched them, before she finally turned back around. "I really do appreciate this," he told her. "Thank you. I know…" He sighed. "I know you're already…busy and swamped with work, and…I know this can only make things harder for you, so…_thank you_."

She shrugged. "I'm fine, Ollie."

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, you're not," he said bluntly. "You look tired, Laurel. You look…like you haven't had a good night's sleep in five months."

"That's because I haven't," she retorted flatly. "Have a nice day, Ollie."

He sighed as he watched her go, running a hand over his face; sometimes, Lian Yu felt like more of a safe haven than home ever did.

* * *

_A/N: This is the kind of mess that happens when I start setting up storylines. I should be kept away from long!fic. _


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